It's Your Choice
by annaguardianshadows
Summary: Several beings are trapped within a twisted game of philanthropy by John Kramer. Will any of them escape with their lives or will they all fall victim to the execution of the Games?


Drip. Drip. Drip. The man turned his head around to attempt to see where exactly the sound was coming from, but the room was far too dark to see much of anything. Another problem was that the sound waves seemed to reverberate throughout the entire room, causing a strong sense of disorientation.

Drip. Drop. Drip. Wait a minute... Why was there water leaking anyway? Did the storm from the previous night cause the generator to shut down and the roof to begin seeping again? Surely it would not have; he had just fixed the shitty roof a little bit before. All the same, believing in a bit of extra manual labor - which he absolutely hated - was far better than thinking of the alternative. He was just at home. The lights were out and the roof was leaking. That was all there was.

Drip. Drop. Drop. The candles should be over on the kitchen table, so if he could sneak his way to the kitchen, then his troubles would be over; after all, he had stashed them in that easy-to-get-to place on the off-chance that the electricity did decide to die out - it seemed he had made a wise decision.

Quietly, he attempted to stand.. And yet... it was worthless. His arms were down at his sides, strapped to a chair, the chains that he hadn't noticed moments before beginning to weigh him down. He could already feel the weight of the material crushing down on his extremities, forcing him to keep his body still.

Oh fuck, what's going on? he thought. His breathing escalated until there was very little self control left. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK! He struggled against his bindings, the rusty links of the chains slowly beginning to saw their ways into his delicate skin. The pain signaled receptors in his brain, hitching his breathing even more so, often times causing him to breathe so fast that it seemed as though his lungs would explode. Slowly, trickles of blood began running down his arms, the rivulets flowing red to the floor.

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Drop. Drip. The sound intensified. That annoying sound that caused him to realize the predicament he was in. It seemed as though his fallacy was simply that - a lie. He was not at home; instead, he was in some kind of dark, deep underground, unable to do a single thing...

Suddenly, blindingly, a brilliant light flashed on overhead. Closing his eyes to stop the force of the light, he squinted, attempting to see what he could. The room he was in wasn't that large; enough room for him to stand and a few meters long. Most of the floor was riddled with boxes, some with chains, some without a single thing to wrap around them, and some with other nicknacks that would cause things to be difficult, should he wish to utilize the usage of them. On one of the boxes was a television.

Unable to help himself, he laughed. A television. What a simple, homey thing to be placed into this world of ever-loving hell. Or so he thought. With a click, the television turned on, a creepy appearing puppet with a pale white face, red swirls on the cheeks, and large bulging eyes seemed to stare out at him. Another second later and the puppet's head twisted, a deep voice emitting from the creature.

"Hello, Joseph. I want to play a game," it stated slowly. "In this life of yours, you have taken greedily from others, turning around and using those people to buy the drugs that so seem to impact your life. I hope you had plenty the night before because I assure you, after this is over, you will never wish to pick up another joint as long as you live. Now, I wish to see if you are willing to think and see if you are truly wanting of that thing we call life; if you can give up that one thing you rely on in order to go on living."

What? How does this.. this... this /THING/ know what I do in my spare time? How does it know so much about me? Joseph thought, struggling even more so, his non-steady breathing becoming even more shakier.

Tilting its head slowly, causing an even more sinister appearance, the being's voice came once again after a paralyzing pause. "Do you see that liquid leaking down from the ceiling, Joseph? It is an highly potent acid, one that can eat away flesh and bone within a matter of seconds. What you have been hearing has been only one spout; the ceiling, however, is riddled with hundreds of them. Now. The ceiling shall leak constantly for two hours. Two hours is all you have, Joseph. Where one would leak in one area, the next second it may stop leaking and another shall begin. You will never know which one is going to begin pouring or when it shall, and the floor will begin to become covered within a matter of time.

"Those boxes lining the walls has the key that will open up one of the four doors surrounding you, Joseph. There are four separate keys to four separate rooms. It is not certain what will be awaiting you on the opposite side of that door; however, should you choose the correct door and key, you will be allowed to go free with your life. You are chained down to a chair. You will find that the key to opening those chains are far closer than you believe them to be. I will give you two hints; the key which holds the formula for a base is harmless. The second is simply this: the key is somewhere close to your heart.

"How much time will you take to be able to live or die?" The creature laughed, turning his head straight up once more, the dead eyes of a puppet seeming to become full of menace in the eyes of the man. "You have two hours, Joseph. What you do with that time... is your choice. Make it."

"GODDAMN YOU!" Joseph shouted at the television. "LET ME OUT OF HERE! LET. ME. THE. FUCK. OUT!" he howled again.

Laughing once more, the puppet looked at Joseph one final time. "Two hours." With the sound of buzz, the television clicked off.


End file.
